At First Sight
by writable
Summary: He watches as she leaves him for a second, her arms thrown up in surrender, as she declares that it's ladies choice. But Christian cannot process such finite words. Ladies choice. Ladies choice? She is a lady, and he is her choice. Him. Him?


**A/N: Hello~ I'm not exactly sure what this piece is, I suppose just a little ficlet about when Christian first sees Satine, and just some of the things that are going through his head. Hope you enjoy! **

Christian sees the woman fall from above, as if she truly is a sparkling diamond surfacing from its dark lair for the very first time. _Satine_, he had heard the men call her. The most beautiful courtesan in the Moulin Rouge.

Surely they were not padding the truth when they had described her as such. Her skin was as pale as early morning sunshine, her hair thick and rich like blood- the very color that which it was painted. Her eyes, framed with dark makeup, seem to bore right into him, although he knows full well he has not yet captured her attention.

But oh, does he plan on it. A poetry reading: a simple, innocent enough gesture, despite his agreement to wrap it in sinfully devious plans of identity theft and pepper it with a few harmless white lies. It was never his idea of course, but it seemed pretty foolproof, and anything resistant to his knack for mischief should definitely be given a chance.

The woman- Satine- seems to be singing, but Christian cannot hear her voice. He is far too busy tracing the delicate contours of her figure, the straight lines and subtle curves, with his shocked gaze, tranquilized by the obvious beauty before him. _Satine, _he says to himself. _Satine, Satine, Satine. _A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. He prays that she has a beautiful mind.

A beautifully open mind.

Minutes seem to pass like air, and before he can even acknowledge the progression of the number, he is overwhelmed by the fury of jewels before him. The jewels, the gold heart.

Satine.

He can feel his heart pounding, the uplifting-splendid-like oxygen love coursing through his veins, torturing him with its stinging sweetness and excruciating heat. He gapes. Damn.

She's turned him into a fool.

He watches as she leaves him for a second, her arms thrown up in surrender, as she declares that it's ladies choice. But Christian cannot process such finite words. Ladies choice. Ladies choice? She is a lady, and he is her choice. Him. _Him? _

He feels the inarguable feeling of feathers in his face, the trademark tickle that it caresses his face with, matching his emotions. A flutter of pink on the outside, a flutter of earthy red within him.

Curiously, he has managed to stand, without falling, without making himself any further a fool. His legs seem to work on some setting where he has relinquished all control, and as Satine saunters to him, her eyes smoldering and beautiful in their seductiveness, he feels them stuck on the dance floor like concrete. She grabs his shoulders, and he breathes in her scent, his eyelids drooping. His arms hesitantly wrap themselves around her small waist, feeling the roughness of the diamonds on her corset. How strange that they should be so rough, he thinks.

But before they can lock around her, she escapes, leaving him with a moment to think, a moment to breathe, a moment to comprehend her quirkiness and the fact that he feels completely overwhelmed by her. She is excitement, she is trouble. She is magic, she is evil. Christian grasps onto some of these realizations, but cannot yet form them into coherent thoughts. Satine- a blessing or a curse?

He doesn't yet know, but it hardly matters to him. All he sees is her form high above him, her body twisting perilously above the crowd. She seems to tremble, and his hands twitch. He knows that if she ever were to fall, it would be right of him to catch her.

But suddenly she does fall, and he can't react fast enough. There's too little oxygen in the air, too much lust and he's suffocating in it. He wants to reach out, to race to the very spot where he knows she'll land, but instead, all he can do is watch, praying that someone else can take over for him that has just a tad more spontaneity than he.

She lands, and as the man carries her away, he feels a pang of jealousy. It is innocent, childish, for he knows their relationship is utterly platonic, but the fated twinges of envy have already begun to plague him. He cannot bear the thought of another man's hands on Satine's skin. _His _Satine.

Christian pauses.

He thinks for a moment, about how deeply he has immersed himself into the Moulin Rouge, into the Bohemian Revolution of fate, and love, and passion, and truth. It is his fate to love with passion, and that is the truth. And he knows that. And it scares him.

And he loves it.

**Thanks for reading! Please leave a review! **


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